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He picked out one of the books, opening up a black gap on the shelf, and mimed reading. He had got himself hemmed in by other people’s backs and jammed in a corner between a bookcase and a table of food, on either of which was there room for him to set down his glass, which had been empty for half an hour. Being an introvert myself, Brophy’s description of Marcus’s awkwardness at a party made me cringe: Since he has no need of a real occupation or a source of income, he spends his time reading and studying art. He has his own flat in London, for instance, but most nights he goes home for dinner and sleeps at his parent’s home. He is the only boy of a wealthy Jewish family living in London and, as a result of his upbringing, he leads a rather pampered life. At the beginning of the story Marcus is a timid, skinny, introvert who lingers at the edge of the parties that he forces himself to attend. I viewed the book as a metamorphosis, much like those described in Ovid’s epic poem, in both a physical and emotional sense. This was my first experience with a Brophy text and I was pleasantly surprised by her writing even with a rather short novella.
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